


Voyeur

by Sinful Words (MontanaHarper)



Series: DIY [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-02
Updated: 2004-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Sinful%20Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Elijah really should have known better, but he'd been excited and overly enthusiastic—as usual—and it didn't even occur to him that he shouldn't just let himself into the house—Orli gave him a <strong>key</strong> for chrissakes—and surprise him with the invitation.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voyeur

Elijah really should have known better, but he'd been excited and overly enthusiastic—as usual—and it didn't even occur to him that he shouldn't just let himself into the house—Orli gave him a _key_ for chrissakes—and surprise him with the invitation.

Well, it sure as hell is a surprise, but not for Orli. And it has _nothing_ to do with Dom or Billy or surfing, at least not unless there is something Elijah doesn't know about Orli. Something other than the way he looks lying in bed with his right hand wrapped loosely around his cock and his left roaming across his chest and belly, the fringe of lashes dark smudges against his cheeks. Because now? Now Elijah knows that about Orli, whether or not he wants to.

Standing in the doorway to Orli's bedroom, where he froze in embarrassment and shock once he realized what the figure sprawled on the king-sized bed was doing, Elijah knows he should back away, should probably go all the way out onto the porch and knock—loudly—and then wait for Orli to answer the door.

But his legs seem reluctant to follow through on the idea, stubbornly refusing to carry him out of the doorway, and his right hand is apparently in collusion with his legs, because it's crept down to the front of his jeans and is pressing against his hardening cock, and what the fuck?

The protest, though, isn't too heartfelt, because Orli's just moaned and now his hand is moving faster, a slick-slide of motion against his cock, the shift of foreskin visible all the way over where Elijah is standing and there's just something so...full of _abandon_ about the way Orli arches up and slides the palm of his hand down the length of his cock and across his balls, curling his fingers up at the last minute and tugging hard to stop himself coming.

Yeah, Elijah should go. He shouldn't be standing there, watching one of his closest friends shudder with the effort of shutting down an orgasm. Shouldn't be sliding his own hand into the waistband of his jeans to trace his fingertips through the precome leaking out of his own cock.

Definitely shouldn't be noticing the way Orli's elf-pale skin looks, sheened with sweat and flushed with exertion, nor wondering how that skin would taste—salty sweet and musky, he thinks—if he dared to run his tongue across a pec and lap at one dark nipple. Because that is seriously fucked up, and Elijah has enough other problems without volunteering for this particular one.

He's even (just about) mustered the resolve to turn and go, to just turn his back on the (incredible) spectacle stretched out against the white sheets, when Orli licks his lips, his mouth dropping open as he gasps for air and then there's a whole other set of questions swirling around Elijah's brain. Like how would Orli's mouth feel, wrapped around Elijah's cock, and could Orli take the whole length, swallowing against the sensitive head until it felt like Elijah's brain was going to melt out his ears?

Which is, honestly, a totally inappropriate question to be thinking about, particularly when one is spying on one's friend's jack-off session. Unfortunately the fact that it's inappropriate completely fails to stop Elijah from thinking about it.

The fact that it's inappropriate also fails to stop him from slipping free the buttons on his jeans, one by one, until the loose denim is clinging precariously to his hips and it's a good thing the doorframe is there to lean against because it's keeping him—and his jeans—from sliding to the floor the second he wraps his hand around his aching cock.

He bites his lip and concentrates on being completely silent, because there is no way he can explain this to Orli if he gets caught. Somehow, he thinks, "Sorry, man, but you were just so fucking hot," probably won't cut it.

Then Orli shifts, bending his left knee and blocking his hand and cock from view and Elijah wants nothing more than to shout at Orli to fucking move so he can see, but man that'd be uncool and he's pretending he still has at least a tiny bit of cool left, ignoring the fact that he's standing in his buddy's doorway jerking off while watching _him_ jerk off.

Or should that be "have a wank"? he wonders, then has to stifle the urge to giggle—really, really a bad idea to giggle at this point—at the thought that Orli is rubbing off on him. And that's another visual he doesn't need right now, because the idea of that long, lean body sliding against his, slicked with sweat and lube, all planes and angles, muscles made hard by weeks of sword and archery training.... Yeah, that visual is just too good and he's already too close to the edge and fuck but he really should leave, should stop being such a fucking pervert.

But there's no real intent behind that thought and his hand is moving fast and hard on his cock, drawing the fire from the pit of his stomach and his balls and twining it into a single burning strand that's pretty rapidly forcing its way out through his cock, the build-up happening so quickly he nearly forgets to stifle the moan that's pushing the air from his lungs.

Left hand quickly cupped over the end of his cock, he catches the spatter before it can decorate the front of his shirt or—worse—the floor of Orli's bedroom. Though once he's standing there with a handful of cooling spunk, making a mess on the floor doesn't seem like such a bad idea by comparison, because it's going to be a bitch to get his jeans buttoned one-handed and what the fuck do you _do_ with a handful of spunk, anyway?

He'd thought the question was rhetorical—and silent, too, for that matter—but apparently the universe has a pretty fucked up sense of humor because on the bed Orli's body tenses and he shoots his load—neatly, making it probably the only thing Elijah has ever seen him do neatly—into his fingers, which he promptly sticks into his mouth one by one, tongue darting out to lap up any of the white droplets that were missed.

And fuck if that's not the hottest fucking thing Elijah has ever seen.

But now is exactly the time he needs to get out of here, before Orli opens his eyes, catches sight of Elijah standing in the doorway with a handful of spunk and his jeans hanging open and decides to beat the crap out of him before turning him over to Sala and company for a really thorough thrashing.

So, right hand holding up his still-unbuttoned jeans, Elijah backs away, hastily wiping his hand on the front of his shirt (so much for keeping it jism-free) until it's clean enough that he can button up his jeans, then he slips quietly out the front door, thoughts of surfing all but forgotten.


End file.
